1895
by TheDeductionist
Summary: A series of one-shots revolving around Sherlock and John. The stories are not connected. This is just a place for me to dump what my muse spits out...
1. My Fear, My Confidant

**My Fear, My Confidant**

**A/N – This is just a little draft I came up with at school. Tell me what you think, and, if you like it I'll think about turning it into a story. I really have no idea what this is yet, if it's anything at all. You'll have to use your imagination.**

"What about you, Sherlock? What do you fear?" He asked, looking over at his friend, who was standing a bit away, whilst everyone else sat by the bonfire.

"Yea!" Everyone nodded and shouted in agreement.

"C'mon, Sherlock! We all said ours! Tell us! What _is _Sherlock Holmes' greatest fear?" Lestrade asked, when Sherlock didn't answer, but continued to stare into the tall trees.

"Yea, tell us!" Donovan shouted. "And nothing silly like 'not having a case'. It has to be true, and meaningful!"

"And nothing mean, like 'Being surrounded by idiots'!" Someone else piped up.

"I'm already surrounded by idiots." Sherlock thought.

"Well, come on then!" Anderson said, a huge grin on his face, "Out with it!"

"Yea! Come on! Tell us!" Everyone was saying. They were all making so much noise. He would have to say something. How tedious.

"Loss." He said bluntly. Well that shut them up. He hadn't meant to say it, but the noise was irritating him. It just slipped out.

"What did you say?" Donovan asked quietly. "Loss." Sherlock repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. In his mind, it probably was. "I fear loss." He continued, pausing briefly between each word. Everyone looked at him. Sherlock merely stared back at them.

"Loss of what?" John finally asked. Sherlock turned to him; his expression was difficult to read. "Does it matter?" He asked, before turning away.

"Wait! Where are you going?" John shouted, as Sherlock walked away. "Cabin." Sherlock replied, not turning around.

"Get my Violin."

**Put some words down there, will ya?**

**V**


	2. Trees and Feelings

**Trees and Feelings**

**A/N – I'm not sure what this is. It literally came to me this minute. It sounded good in my head, so I wrote it down. Purely for your entertainment. It has no purpose.**

I hear you. I always hear you. I see you, too. See you thoughts. See your feelings. The excitement. The happiness. The love. The anger. The disappointment. And the pain. I see it all. I notice the different looks. The different sighs. All of them. The way your voice changes when you are upset. Angry. Scared. I hear it all. I see it all. Like a painting inside my head. A painting of you. I don't pretend to understand how you work. Why you put up with me. Why you're still here. Why you care. I don't think I'll ever know. Like a mystery I can never solve. But I'm alright with it. It wouldn't be the same if I knew. Wouldn't be worth as much. Wouldn't be as exciting. I know that you can never understand. I don't blame you for that. It's not you. It's me. It's not your fault this is who I am. I am not a clump of clay that you can shape and mould into anything you want. I am not a strip of metal that must be forced. I am more like a tree. Constantly changing. With the weather – my feelings. What others leave behind. You cannot change me for the better.

But you can help me grow.


	3. In Darkness They Wait

**In Darkness They Wait**

_Sherlock ran through the dark streets of London. "Have to get away. Yes, the Hound. I'm running from the Hound." He kept chanting to himself, in his head. He turned a corner into a little alleyway he didn't know existed, (strange – He knew London like he knew the periodic table) and, suddenly he wasn't in London anymore. He was in the forest – tripping over rocks, and skidding on leaves. He could hear the Hound behind him. He didn't dare turn around. Then he was running into fog. He couldn't see where he was going, but he didn't care. He had to get away. He pushed open the large white door, (wait, what door?) and kept on running through the house. The Hounds growls were transformed into his father heavy footsteps, and Sherlock was now a child. "Sherlock, get back here, NOW!" He was holding a thick, wooden stick. Sherlock could not remember the last time he felt so terrified. He yanked open the door that lead to the garden, and ran through. Only, the door didn't lead to the garden. Sherlock, now an adult again, and John were running over rooftops, back in London, trying to catch some unknown, faceless criminal. One large leap from one building to the next, and he would be able to catch the man. John was running next to Sherlock now, and, together they jumped._

_Neither of them made it._

_And he was falling. Falling through the blackness. He felt like he left his stomach back at the top of the building. He could faintly hear John screaming. Sherlock called out "John!" And suddenly there was a bright light._

_Then blackness._

_And he was kneeling next to Johns' bruised body, as he lay, lifeless, on the floor where he fell. "John, no! Please… no…" He rolled his friend over, and held him, in his arms. There was a bullet hole in his head, and he could hear Moriarty, off in the distance, laughing. He faintly heard him say "I will burn… The heart… Out of you…" And he realized he was crying, as Johns' body morphed into Mrs. Hudsons', then Gregs', then Mollys', then Mycrofts'._

_All the same – Lifeless._

_Dead._

_Gone._

_And he was sobbing now, clutching Johns' lifeless body. "John…"_

"Sherlock"

_"__John, please don't leave me." He begged._

_He was holding Johns' body, only now they were not in a dark alleyway, somewhere in London, but in the middle of a crime scene. And there was Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Mycroft – All frowning at him. And Donovan and Anderson were screeching and laughing and calling him 'freak', nut he took no notice. His friends were frowning at him and John was dead. "Help me!" He screamed at them, "Help him!"_

"Sherlock, wake up!'

_His friends were turning away from him, disgusted and disappointed. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were crying. Greg was trying to comfort them. Mycroft was slowly shaking his head. They all began to walk away. "Where are you going!?" He yelled, but they had already disappeared into the unforgiving darkness. "No… Someone, for hells' sake, help me!" He yelled at no one in particular. John was cold in his arms._

"Sherlock…"

_"__John… Please don't leave me! Everyone always leaves me! Please…"_

_He was screaming and crying and going absolutely hysterical. And it would have been funny, the way he was acting, had he not been so utterly distraught. "John…"_

"Open your eyes, Sherlock…"

_And he heard Moriarty again, "Now, we both know that's not quite true…"_

_"__YOU ARSE!" Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs. "YOU ARSE! YOU KILLED HIM! HOW DARE YOU? I'LL KILL YOU!" His voice broke, and he cried, but not before he heard Moriartys' voice on last time, "I will burn… You…" And then John was burning, and floating away from him. And Sherlock was crying. Then he was falling. Falling through the darkness. He fell for what felt like a hundred thousand years, and he was screaming._

"Wake up, Sherlock! Open your eyes!"

_And he was screaming for John. Screaming his name._

"Sherlock, open your bloody eyes!"

_"__John!" He screamed._

_Then he hit the floor._

_Blackness._

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

Sherlock sat bolt upright in his bed and screamed.

"Sherlock, calm down! It's okay, I'm here! You're safe! It's okay!" And Sherlock stopped screaming. Johns' hand was on his shoulder. Firm. Sherlock drew his knees to his chest, and put his head in his arms, before proceeding to shake and sob uncontrollably.

Arms around him.

Johns' arms. John was sitting next to him, on his bed.

Yes, because John was safe.

He was not dead.

It was a dream.

He was safe. He was alive.

A dream.

And John was whispering soft, calming words at him.

"Shh. It's Okay. You're fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine. You're safe. I'm here."

Gradually, Sherlock calmed down. His breathing slowed, and he stopped crying, as John gently rocked him in his strong arms.

"was it the same nightmare?" John whispered the question, and all Sherlock could do in response was nod. He snuggled his head closer into Johns' chest, listening for a heartbeat.

He found it, and sighed with relief.

He let John rock him for a few minutes longer, as he drifted back off to sleep.

As John guided him back down to his pillow, Sherlock wiped his eyes, and sniffed. "Don't leave." He whispered.

"I'm not gonna leave, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled, as John reached for his hand and began to stroke it. "Good." He said, as the world went black for the umpteenth time that night.

But he was happy.

He was safe.

**Wow. Only as I finished typing this up, did I realize just how cool it is. I am very happy with this, and I hope you are, too. The next chapter (different story) is on it's way (I have written it, I'm just too lazy to type it up). In the mean time, put some words down there, will ya?**

**V**


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